Page 6 of Coming Home to Maverick

“Well, over time I realized that wasn’t enough, but I never told anybody. I figured I had a good life, a good man, a good future. I should be happy. But I’d never been anywhere. College was only an hour away, and Maverick was my only boyfriend.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back.

“Nobody knew you weren’t happy.”

“I don’t even know ifIknew I was unhappy. That’s the thing. I didn’t know myself at all. And I got scared and took off for Nashville. What I did was so terrible that I didn’t dare contact you, and then it became easier not to—and then it became too long of a time I’d let slip by.” She forced herself to meet their eyes. “I was living a life I now you don’t approve of. And then Gracie…”

“Sounds like you’re well on your way to figuring things out,” her dad said.

Bailey smiled ruefully. “Hopefully I can figure it out before I have to talk to Maverick.”

“Everybody makes mistakes. It’s been five years. He’s a good man.”

“You’ll feel better when you do,” her mom urged.

“I know I was unhappy, and I needed to communicate better, but what I lacked most of all was gratitude and courage. And for that, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I left without telling you and that I didn’t talk to you all these years.” She swallowed. “I know that’s not good enough, just saying sorry when you do something that big, that hurtful. It’s gonna take some time for you to forgive me. But I’ll make it up to you, pay you back, work the ranch. I’ll prove again that I can be the daughter you deserve.”

“Oh, honey, no.” Her mom jumped up and sat as close as she could to Bailey. “That’s not how it works with us. And that’s not how it works with God either. You keep talking to Him. He’ll let you know. And as far as your Daddy and me, we forgave you years ago.”

“Oh, I don’t talk to Him any more. How can I when I let everyone down like I did? Maverick….” She shook her head. “I just don’t think God wants to hear much from me anymore.”

“Well, it’s times like this when you need to talk to Him the most. He’s way better than your Daddy or I am about forgiving.” She patted her knee. “Honey, there is nothing ever that can separate you from the love of our Lord.”

“That’s the absolute truth. You can read that in Romans eight if you want to remember.” Her dad shook his head. “Don’t you worry about us. Just like your Mother said, we’ve already forgiven you. Long time ago.”

She nodded, but she didn’t know what to say. She would do whatever she could to help these parents of hers who deserved so much. But she didn’t think she could ever make it right with Jesus, not after all she’d done. “I wish I had come back years ago.”

“Looked like you were kind of busy.”

“Singing in some local places.”

Bailey started. “What? Did you come?”

“Did we come? Your mother made a book.”

“She did?” Bailey was shocked when Mom brought out a thick three-ring binder packed with pages and handed it to her. Her lap felt weighed down with the pages.

“We started this as a wedding gift.”

The first page was a double spread of her and Maverick as kids—their elementary school pictures and others. She skipped ahead, grazing past the pre-wedding shots, the bridals, the engagements. And then she stopped at a pair of tickets to her first gig and a picture of her parents standing together in front of the venue.

“You were there?” She couldn’t stop the tears. They were too kind. “You were there?” Had they tried to come see her backstage? Had security bounced them out? Had they just watched and left? She couldn’t handle the answers to those questions, so she set the binder aside. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even know.” She stood, not even able to stand her own self. “I think I need time to let this settle. Can I look at it later?”

“Of course.” Mom shut the book as Bailey hurried from the room, choking back sobs.

When she was back in the guest room, she dried her tears and lay back in her bed. As she tried to drift off to sleep, Maverick’s face came into her mind. She’d grown up with him. They had memories from every year of her life until she’d left. But the face she saw now was not the childhood Maverick but the man who’d loved her. The man who had cupped her cheeks in his large, rough hands and kissed her softly, tenderly, over and over until she didn’t know what to do with the yearning that swelled up inside. That’s the Maverick that lulled her to sleep as she hugged a pillow and wished she didn’t have to tell him what she’d done.

Chapter 3

Maverick rode out over his property on his favorite horse, flying over the hedges, tearing across meadows, and pushing Thunder to his limit. The horse loved it. Maverick could feel the power and rhythm beneath him, feel the shuddering flanks under his calves, sense the horse’s desire to break free and push himself to his limits.

Thunder knew where they were going. He’d known before Maverick knew. And once Maverick realized Thunder was heading to the ridge, he didn’t try to stop him.

The ridge—the property line between his land and Bailey’s. It had been their meeting spot for all the years he’d known her. A huge climbing tree dominated the area, which they’d climbed as children and sat beneath as youth. He’d first thoroughly explored what it meant to kiss Bailey under that tree. If Maverick thought hard enough, he could still remember the feel of her mouth. As Thunder reached the final stretch of the climb, Maverick hopped off and let him wander. There was a stream nearby for water, and Thunder could graze on the grass down the other side. Without even planning to, Maverick went to stand on the ridge and stared down into Bailey’s property.

He’d come here almost every day for months after she’d left, staring down into her fields. Sometimes he’d watch the horses run. Her father used to breed and train them like the Dawson Ranch did. He’d sold off many—some of which Maverick had purchased—and now kept a modest group in his retirement. Bailey’s parents had been like second parents to him, and he’d turned to her father when his own had died.

He looked away from the view. Bailey hadn’t come to the funeral. Not even a phone call. He’d heard talk that she’d been singing in bars, and he’d tried to contact her. Even if he could have only heard her voice, he might have felt better, gotten some answers, but his calls never reached her. And now, before she’d returned, he thought he’d forgiven her, thought that he was over her, but news of her arrival brought back intense feelings—even anger. A fire raged through him as he relived it all again. He’d give himself this one luxury one more time—he clenched his fists—then he would conquer this.

The sound of a horse running toward him pounded through his heart, and he knew it had to be Bailey. He whistled for Thunder. The last thing he wanted was to see the woman who had left him at the altar, who hadn’t spoken a word to him since, and who had suddenly showed back up in his town to disturb his peace. His heart ached in a twisted, anger-filled fear at having to face her. Not right now. Not like this.

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